But Cath had been kicked off today.
They couldn’t believe Cath had been kicked off.
Bitterness descended into London’s system.
This was the way it was meant to be, wasn’t it? The producers had likely planned it from the beginning. It hadn’t truly bothered them until now. Team London versus Team Lizzie, right? What a great TV moment.
London slid off the bed. They had been in their room for less than five minutes, and they couldn’t take it. They had actually contemplated asking for a new room this weekend. One where they hadn’t slept with Dahlia.
They grabbed their key card and left.
When London stepped back into the hotel lobby almost two hours later, that blast of air-conditioning still a shock every time, Hugo at reception called out to them.
“Hey, London! Glad to catch you. Got something for you.”
London had gotten to know a lot of the hotel employees over the weeks. Hugo was one of their favorites.
“I was going to leave it outside your door, but I got worried someone would take it.”
“Yeah, thanks, man.” London took the package from Hugo’s hand with a nod. They walked over to the elevator, wondering what their mom had sent them now. Although it was sort of weird. Their mom, along with the rest of their family, was flying in tomorrow. She probably could have just waited to give London whatever this was in person.
It was only when they were inside the elevator, on their way to their floor, when they looked down and saw the loopy, messy handwriting on the front of the box.
The elevator doors opened. London almost let them close again, stuck against the elevator wall in dumb shock.
Somehow, they made their way back to their room. They set the box on their bed. Stared at it for a few long moments.
And then they dug around their entire hotel room, looking for something sharp. She had taped the hell out of this thing. With a half laugh, London thought about how they should invest in one of her Swiss Army multitools. She would have been prepared, if she were here.
Eventually, they jammed their rental car keys through the tape enough times to get a ragged rip going. Their heart was going to pound straight out of their chest.
As soon as London had the box opened, they staggered back.
Holy shit.
The smell.
London knew exactly what it was, and they covered their mouth to both escape the scent and hold in a laugh. With the tips of their fingers, they lifted the offending Tupperware and went back into the hall, down to the trash, where they dumped the whole thing inside, silently apologizing to anyone who walked through the hallway and had to endure it. Brussels sprouts, roasted with garlic and butter, and then left to fester in a package mailed across the country.
Back in their room, with slight trepidation now, they examined the other contents of the box. One other Tupperware, and a note.
London sat on the edge of the bed and opened the folded paper.
I know. I know. I hope it doesn’t smell too bad. I tried to tape the container shut really well but I’m nervous. I couldn’t afford refrigerated packaging. If it’s awful, you only have yourself to blame.
I’m so sorry, London. You don’t know how sorry I am.
You’re the only chef I’m rooting for.
See you soon.
xoxo
London opened the other Tupperware, gave it a sniff. It didn’t seem like the Brussels sprouts had infiltrated it too much. They moved the empty cardboard box to the ground and lay on their side, propped on a pillow, chewing the Rice Krispies treats. They read the note, over and over. Pictured her writing it, scribbling the first part fast, then stopping, biting her lip, fiddling with the top of her pen.
See you soon.
London ran their fingers over the paper, the creases where her fingers had been.
They closed their eyes. They felt more fractured than ever, in a strange way, their tendons and ligaments taut and fragile.
But then they started to laugh. They laughed by themself in their lonely hotel room until they could barely breathe, and each shake of their shoulders, each wheeze of their lungs brought their body closer to resetting itself, new cells stretching over wounds, trying their best, nudging each other on, not giving up on these weary bones yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Hey, asswipe.” Julie clocked London in the arm. “Maybe put your phone away and enjoy some quality time with your family that you haven’t seen in over a month.”
“Julie,” their mother clucked from across the table. “Seriously. Language.”
“Fine, Mom. You tell London to stop texting their girlfriend and actually hang out with us. Their flesh and blood, who flew all the way across the country on a red-eye flight—”